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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29198580">cafe latte coloured sky</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfen/pseuds/pinkfen'>pinkfen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>soft johnmark for the uwu feels [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Boyfriends, Cute, Domesticity, Drabbles, Falling In Love, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:40:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,714</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29198580</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfen/pseuds/pinkfen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The soft light falling through the window, the sun on his skin, Johnny’s sleepy smile in the morning – sometimes, Mark thinks these are the things that make life worth living.</p><p>(Or: 13 drabbles set in different alternate universes.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>soft johnmark for the uwu feels [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cafe latte coloured sky</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erodesus/gifts">Erodesus</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Y’all loved ‘just morning things’ sm, it was a pleasant surprise for me! Thank you to everyone who read it, really. I dug up a drabble collection of similar length and vibe, I hope it can give you the feelz too :D this was first written for got7 in 2017,, and dw this is prob the last thing im reworking for johnmark lol I’ll write original stuff specifically for them in future :) im not gna continue any of these or anything but if you like you can lmk which was your fave out of the 13 at the end, it’ll be interesting to me to know hehe!</p><p>Ps. I put both works in a series so if u wna remove the bookmark for the other fic and bookmark the series instead go ahead lol I don’t monitor my bookmark numbers ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>one.</p><p>”what would you have done if we never met?" mark says.</p><p>johnny smiles confidently. "that’s not possible."</p><p>"why?" mark demands. he leans forward and brushes their lips together till the smug smile slides off johnny’s face. he braces himself on his elbows over mark, warm hands framing his face.</p><p>"because i’d still manage to find you, somehow. maybe we’d be in the same class at school, and you’d be the person in the seat behind me; or maybe i’d be working as a barista in a café, and you would come in and order a drink. maybe i would fall on top of you while riding the bus, and you’d yell at me."</p><p>mark laughs. johnny pretends not to, but his eyes give him away. "wherever we go, whoever we are," johnny promises, reaching down to thread their fingers together. "i’ll know it’s you."</p><p>*</p><p>two.</p><p>what were the chances of mark meeting johnny, out of all the eight billion people in the world? what were the odds of them being in the same country, city, building, road junction, traffic light on the same day at the same time? it’s nothing short of a miracle, mark thinks, the way johnny and him became acquaintances, friends, lovers, and then soulmates, and when he realizes that, he can’t stop shaking.</p><p>*</p><p>three.</p><p>mark props his feet up on the dashboard, messing with the radio dial as johnny lazily smokes a cigarette, fingers dangling out of the window. the wind snatches embers from the tip and tosses johnny’s hair.</p><p>"where are we going?" mark asks, and it steals his breath when johnny turns, a slow smile spreading carelessly over his face. they idle at a traffic light and johnny lets the accelerator hum beneath his foot, before flooring it gently.</p><p>a sixties love song plays from the radio. johnny reaches out to turn the knob up, and says softly, "the question is, where can’t we go?"</p><p>*</p><p>four.</p><p>this is what johnny craves with mark: crumpled work shirts with their collars turned in, stacks of laundry folded messily but earnestly. toothbrushes in an overnight case and the warm clean scent of fabric softener. it’s kind of stupid, because mark is a boy and his bandmate and there is nothing about them that could end in domesticity.</p><p>and yet, johnny doesn’t stop dreaming of simple pleasures. he can see it so vividly – a neatly made bed, pale blue light and the fresh cool early morning air – in mark’s eyes that sometimes johnny thinks this life they have here is really the dream.</p><p>*</p><p>five.</p><p>there are all these anonymous, identical vending machines littered over japan, and it makes every street look the same. johnny digs into his pocket for pennies and feeds them to the machine. a can of iced coffee clanks out and he offers it to mark.</p><p>"hyung," mark frets, popping the top thirstily and tipping it back to his lips. johnny drinks in the movement of his throat hungrily. "are you sure we’re not lost?"</p><p>johnny jumps when mark presses the cool side of the can against his face. he giggles and johnny grabs the can and gulps it down. "yes," he says, and shoves his hand into his pocket, burying the map deeper. "i’m sure."</p><p>*</p><p>six.</p><p>johnny scrawls strings of musical notes across the canvas of mark’s palms, looping around his fingers and encircling his wrists like a bracelet. mark watches entranced as he works rapidly, tattooing his hands with an illegible pattern of staffs and treble clefs.</p><p>"what are you composing?" he asks, and johnny stops to smile indulgently, pen pausing on mark’s fingertip.</p><p>"a love song," he says softly, and closes his eyes to hum a little bit.</p><p>mark smiles slow. "are you going to play it for me later?" he teases.</p><p>johnny’s eyes darken. "yes," he says quietly, taking mark’s hands and guiding them down, wrapping around his already rigid cock, running them down his body. "i’m going to let you hear how beautiful it sounds against your skin."</p><p>*</p><p>seven.</p><p>mark wants to tell johnny that sometimes johnny makes him think of sunlight spilling across cotton sheets, crumpled warm beds in the morning. johnny makes mark think of ocean blue bedspreads the same shade of the sky and other romantic matching things that mark had never dreamt he was capable of thinking.</p><p>mark wants to ask johnny to wait for him because one day he will be rich enough to give all of this to him, and powerful enough that no one will say a thing. he wants to tell johnny, <em>i am working for us. i am living for you</em>.</p><p>but mark is afraid that johnny will smile that heartbreakingly gentle smile of his and say <em>there is no us. don’t live for me, live for you</em>.</p><p>*</p><p>eight.</p><p>mark likes the art johnny has made of holding a cigarette, the long elegant fingers fragile amidst ash grey smoke. he likes the slight air of resignation and defiance in the slackness of johnny’s fingertips. but most of all, he likes it the frown of disapproval that creases johnny’s forehead when he asks for a taste, but he leans closer anyway and winds a careful arm around mark’s neck, bringing the cigarette to his lips.</p><p>the cigarette is bitter and a little damp. mark inhales and breathes in johnny.</p><p>"enough?" johnny says placidly. mark nods and he unloops his hand, watching out not to burn mark’s hair and returns the cigarette to his lips. mark watches his mouth close over it, the gentle, idle press of his teeth and wonders why it feels as intimate as a kiss.</p><p>*</p><p>nine.</p><p>johnny unfolds the new york times and shakes it open, watching the bustle and movement of the coffeehouse in the reflection of the window. he raises his ceramic mug of espresso to his lips distractedly, taking measured sips. when the mouth of the cup is dusted with foam and there is only a centimetre left, he sets it down in the saucer with a clink. he reads the newspaper back to back, then folds it again, smoothing out the creases with his fingers.</p><p>the door-chime tinkles, and johnny’s heart beats a little faster to see mark, flushed and breathless, bringing snow from the outside, his smile stealing all the light from the room.</p><p>"sorry i’m late, hyung," mark laughs, coming over and leaning so far in johnny can smell the cold on his skin.</p><p>"it’s alright," johnny says, covering mark’s hand with his own warm one. "i like waiting."</p><p>*</p><p>ten.</p><p>in his travels around the world, mark meets an aspiring photographer called johnny. he tells mark that his dream is to see the sights of every country through his viewfinder. they happen to share a compartment on the same train towards bombay, and johnny likes to lean over the edge of the top bunk and snap candid pictures of mark sleeping, talking, laughing.</p><p>"where do you plan to stop?" johnny asks, a little wistfully, on the day before they arrive. mark is heading east, johnny west. "i don’t know," mark says, and laughs. "maybe never."</p><p>johnny gives him a stack of polaroids and a camera. there are pictures of mark sleepy and laughing, hand blocking the camera; mark with his hands pressed up against the windowpane, gazing awestruck at first snow; mark with his chin propped on his hand, staring out of the window with a vaguely melancholy expression. mark is quieted.</p><p>"will you let me see the world through your eyes?" johnny says shyly. "because right now, i can only see you."</p><p>*</p><p>eleven.</p><p>in summer, they stroll hand in hand across the beach, warm sand trickling between their toes. johnny runs in and out of the shoreline, chasing the waves like a child. gentle tides lap at mark’s feet. their bare feet leave a trail of footprints in the wet sand.</p><p>when they’re tired, they sit down on the smooth sand. johnny takes off his shirt and bends over to help mark roll up the hems of his worn out jeans. mark studies the whorl of his hair and the way it shimmers like gold in the sun.</p><p>"i want to be with you forever," johnny states, and it’s as simple as that. mark smiles <em>okay</em> and closes his eyes as johnny leans down and blocks out the sun.</p><p>*</p><p>twelve.</p><p>this is the peace that mark has found among the chaos, the pocketful of calm: the tangle of covers and pillows when he wakes up in johnny’s arms, the warmth of skin against cotton and breath against skin. this is the quiet the bustle of street noises flowing from the window cannot invade, the distance that is so immense yet intangible.</p><p>this is the best part of the day: the five minutes after waking up when he allows himself to doze for awhile, to be pulled back into bed by johnny and enveloped within his arms. the soft morning light falling through the window, the sun on his skin, johnny’s sleepy smile in the morning – sometimes, mark thinks these are the things that make life worth living.</p><p>*</p><p>thirteen.</p><p>tangled limbs and pancakes in the morning are two of johnny’s favourite things in life, and the other is mark. he loves being indulged by the younger boy, keeping him in bed with his weight and being sleepy and groggy and demanding. he loves the small smile on mark’s face when he gives in, the warmth of his laughter against his ear, and then the shiver of hands sliding beneath cool sheets.</p><p>johnny loves all of these things, but one day he promises himself he will wake up early and surprise mark, pad to the kitchen and put on an apron and clumsily whip up a stack of warm fluffy pancakes with butter melting on top, and syrup overflowing. he will carry it carefully up to bed and tickle mark till he wakes, then spoon mouthfuls of it up to feed him and pamper him.</p><p>on mark’s birthday, johnny will do that. but today, he just pretends to be lazy and cranky and whines softly when mark slips out of bed, watching him cross the room and pull a threadbare shirt over his smooth arched back and smiles softly when mark leans in to caress his skin.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading this too, leave me a kudos if you feel like it ^^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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